


the bottoms gonna drop out from under our feet (i'll catch you)

by izziescasey



Series: jump then fall [1]
Category: Women's Soccer RPF
Genre: F/F, Pining, anyway im soft for them, inspired by that one messy game vs the royals, obviously
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-05
Updated: 2019-11-05
Packaged: 2021-01-23 13:48:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21321196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/izziescasey/pseuds/izziescasey
Summary: She shakes her head again and you physically feel it in your chest as she sniffles, so softly.For a split-second you think you'd give her your spot in a heartbeat.You close your eyes and breathe out, drop your head against the headrest; there's so much inside of you that has nowhere to go.
Relationships: Lindsey Horan/Emily Sonnett
Series: jump then fall [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1537117
Comments: 14
Kudos: 185





	the bottoms gonna drop out from under our feet (i'll catch you)

You find her right after the whistle blows, before the thought of showering or crying first even crosses your mind.

She's all puffy eyed and turned into herself, cheek pressed against the window of the bus. Her arms are wrapped around her knees and something inside of you aches in a way that's new but so familiar at the same time.

The only sound heard is your quick breathing. (You might've run here. _Powerwalked at best_, you will swear if Sonnet asks once she's back to her usual, teasing self.) 

She's so closed off; you feel like you should ask permission to sit down next to her. A second later the thought feels dumb and dramatic, so you just sit.

Sonnett releases her legs from her own grip and turns her body away from the window, and towards you, just slightly. She is your best friend and you think she's easier to read than your favorite book – you wrap an arm around her and feel her melt into you before you can blink twice.

"We'll do better next time."

You're taken aback by the shakiness in your own voice and you wonder if it's from losing the game or seeing her like this. (_Losing the game_, you will say to yourself over and over on your hard, hotel mattress.)

You feel her shake her head, "I'm not- she was right, I'm-", she doesn't finish her own sentence, probably because she can feel it pissing you off.

"Rodriguez _wasn't _right. Maybe she was right about the foul," you didn't see it happen but Emily had been on a tackling streak that night and Rodriguez is usually kind of their friend so she wouldn't just snap about nothing, "but she wasn't right about Tokyo." You wish you could be as certain about this as you sound. As much as you believe in Sonnett you don't know what the future holds for her, or yourself for that matter.

She shakes her head again and you physically feel it in your chest as she sniffles, _so _softly.

For a split-second you think you'd give her your spot in a heartbeat. 

You close your eyes and breathe out, drop your head against the headrest; there's so much inside of you that has nowhere to go.

"Em," You pause as she tenses just slightly in your arms, "You're the best player I know."

It sounds too real. You add, "Besides Messi of course, but that's a given."

She releases something that sounds like a chuckle and you feel your muscles release a tension you didn't realize you were holding.

She sits up (and you swear you _don't _miss her weight against your side), wipes her eyes and takes a deep breath.

Taking her hand is something you do on autopilot and she smiles. (Barely, but a smile, nonetheless. You take your blessings as they come.)

She squeezes your hand for every sympathetic comment your teammates send her way as they start filling up the bus.

It's weird. Sonnett is _always _positive, even after big losses. No one's voiced it, but you can tell they all feel it just the same.

You're almost at the hotel and you thought she was asleep when she says, "You got yourself a yellow."

You were hoping she'd missed that and now you're hoping she'll drop it.

She wouldn't be Sonnett if she did.

"That was so dumb."

"It was." You say because it's the truth and you can't think of any other words that won't make you sound totally crazy. 

It was an idiotic, useless tackle and you know exactly why you did it.

"Kinda cute though." You can _hear _her smile; you aren't looking at her but know she's smirking.

You decide to stress about what, if anything, she means by the comment later. Right now, you're just happy she's joking again.

In the elevator to your room she's a little more upbeat – even chatting with teammates, and if Tobin notices you smiling at the sight she pretends not to.

"Have you showered yet?" You ask as you press your keycard into its slot. You know she has. You knew by the scent of her shampoo as she slept against your shoulder on the bus; knew because you kept having to restart the song you were trying to listen to. But you figure it's polite to ask anyway.

She nods before she lets herself fall onto her bed, "All yours, Linessi."

You throw your pillow at her before locking yourself in the tiny bathroom.

You spend your entire shower thinking of her: Your loud, happy Sonny; so small and quiet in the back of that big bus.

You wish your thoughts would drain away with the shower water.

When you leave the bathroom, the sight of her has you weak. She's under her duvet, wearing one of your worn-out PSG hoodies, focused on some sport that you don't immediately recognize because you don't tend to care about sports that don't involve kicking balls.

You think you might be looking at her a little too long because she looks back at you, apologetically, "I forgot to pack something warm." She turns the volume down, "And I think the AC's busted or something, it's fucking freezing in here."

_She's nervous_, you think but then feel stupid about thinking it right after.

"S'fine." You rummage through your suitcase to reveal a second hoodie, "Packed two."

"I'd be nothing without you."

You swallow and quickly pull the hoodies over your head. You're not necessarily cold but you need something to cover your face for a moment – let it cool down.

"As long as you know it." You wiggle your eyebrows at her before getting comfortable on your own bed. "So, what are we watching?"

She takes the hint and switches from the sports channel to Netflix. She turns her head to face you. Her eyes are still a little puffy and her smile is so soft, and you want to kiss her, "You tell me." 

There's nothing good on Netflix so you end up on Emily’s bed together with the lights off, in front of her iPad that's streaming the Bachelor from some shady site with lots of ads. (When you tell her that that's probably illegal, her response is: "The only true crime here is that the Bachelor franchise isn't on Netflix, honestly.").

Your arm is wrapped around her, _so you can both fit on the bed, _and her head finds your shoulder somewhere in the first ten minutes of episode one.

You have an early call tomorrow; you remember this after you start the third episode. Emily stopped commenting on all the girls about half an episode ago and has been suspiciously quiet since.

You lock the iPad and place it on her nightstand. When you lift your other arm, the one that's around her, she stirs and mumbles in protest, "You're warm."

You chuckle, "I have to move so I can sleep."

"No, you don't." She nuzzles into your shoulder and her shampoo makes you dizzy.

You're not going to fight her on this. You can be weak for one night; you can have good things every once in a while.

"I still have to brush my teeth, though."

Fighting it makes you feel less pathetic for giving in and her arguing with you makes you feel wanted, which is so dumb and something you would never say out loud.

"You can do that in the morning."

You chuckle, mumble: "Not how that works but okay." and let yourself fully lie down next to her in the tiny, tiny bed. You wrap your arms around her from behind and allow yourself to let go; pretend the hotel room's some imaginary world and it's not really real and you won't feel bad about it in the morning. You press your nose into her neck. The sigh you let out is shaky.

"Thank you, Linds." She suddenly sounds awake, and too earnest for someone who was trash talking Bachelor contestants less than an hour ago.

You don't know what she's thanking you for exactly; defending her on the field, all snark and assertiveness; pushing Amy; holding her on the bus; or holding her now.

"You're welcome." You mumble, suddenly self-conscious and just a little anxious about your breath and if it's hitting her neck.

You don't have the energy or strength to move.

"I got you, Em." You tighten your grip on her waist just slightly, "Always."

Right now, you'd swear she shivers at that. Tomorrow, you will say it was just the cold.

She takes your hand, the one draped over her body, and for a second you think she'll kiss it.

She doesn't and the air you'd been holding leaves your lungs.

You feel her breathing slow against your arms, still around her body, and you almost start crying with how overwhelming it all is.

You wake up with your face pressed into your own PSG hoodie and feeling like everything is the way it should be.

Until you remember who's wearing the hoodie and sit up, quickly but carefully detangling Emily's limbs from your own.

You press snooze on the alarm and make your way downstairs to check out the coffee place Emily had pointed out when you first arrived here.

Fifteen minutes later you're sitting at the foot of her bed, watching her take her first sip.

You wish you were less observant as you feel your stomach churn at the sight of her, still half-asleep, all freckles and soft, blonde flyaways. (Still in your hoodie.)

She nods in approval, smiles that Sonny smile and sighs out: "Just what I needed. You're amazing."

"Oh, stop it." You playfully hit the air as you pretend you don't feel her words course through your veins. 

Little things about Emily make you suspect she's thinking about yesterday's game again. The way she watches her coffee as she stirs it and lets the room fall silent when it never tends to be. Not with you two as roommates at least. 

Just the memory of her all alone in that big bus is enough to make you want to break the silence and cheer her up. 

You open your mouth to do just that but several fast knocks on the door beat you to the punch.

"Wake up, losers!" You hear Caitlin's voice followed by someone, you don't even need to listen to know it's Ellie, shushing her, whisper-yelling so loudly you're able to hear every word, "There's people that are still asleep, idiot."

Emily jumps out of bed as she starts talking to them through the door. 

You think she sounds different when she talks to them. Her voice still so obviously hers, but not the way it was just minutes ago or last night in the dark. 

You accidentally think maybe that's because it's different when it's just for you and at this point it's safe to say that you're deep in your own grave and holding the shovel.

You're finally home and watching a rerun of a soccer match with your housemates.

There's a comfortable space between you and Emily that's just big enough for you to be able to breathe normally.

You'd like to think you're pretty good at living with your best friend that you happen to be secretly in love with. But she always finds ways to make it harder for you.

You feel her head softly land on your legs as she changes positions to lie down on the couch you're sharing.

You know it's not on purpose but you still wanna scream at her sometimes.

She turns her head to look up at you and smiles softly, "'M tired."

Now being one of those times.

But still: you're good at it.

You let her take your hand and place it on the top of her head, silently asking you to run your fingers through it.

Most days you're good.

Today you run your fingers through her hair, watch the rest of the match and let her fall asleep with her head in your lap.

You feel your eyelids get heavier as the players' interviews start and softly shake her. 

"I wanna nap."

"Sorry I was first." She mumbles without opening her eyes or moving, "unless you carry me to bed."

On the outside you scoff, on the inside your heartbeat speeds up as you deadpan, "Funny."

"Wasn't a joke. Enjoy being my pillow, miss Linessi."

And you almost shut up and let her go back to sleep before snapping out of it and pushing her off of you.

She gasps as she watches you get up from the couch, the same look on her face she gets when she thinks she's been fouled.

When your throat dries, you realize that look does the same thing to you off the field as it does on it.

"Race you to the bed." It's bold and dumb but she's following you to your room before you realize what you've done.

She tackles you in an attempt to win but just ends up throwing you onto the bed. The air leaves your lungs as she lands on top of you.

"I win." You manage to choke out, flat on your back, Emily straddling you.

She's pretending to be a sore loser but can't stop the grin on her face from forming. 

And you can't take your eyes off of her.

"You win." Her grin turns into a soft smile as she meets your wide eyes. 

You faintly hear a player talk about the match from the living room as you look at her, hair a mess and slightly panting from your little race.

You swear you see something flicker in her eyes. But it's gone again before you can place it and she's getting off of you to lie down instead.

"Dibs." She says as she grabs your favorite blanket.

And just like that the moment's gone before you've fully grasped it.

You and Emily have had little moments like this ever since you first met but ever since you held her on the bus- no, ever since the tackle that got you a yellow, it all feels even more important, like maybe this is not one of those secrets you can just live with. Not for much longer at least.

You turn on your side to face her; watch her get comfortable in the fluffy blanket and turn her back towards you.

You _know_ it's her silent way of asking you to be the big spoon because that's how well you know her, but you play dumb just in case it's weird that you know.

"Okay, rude." Is what you say instead.

"Shut up and spoon me, woman."

You both know that it's supposed to be funny and that you're supposed to laugh but she makes you so nervous a natural laugh is hard to muster.

You manage a small chuckle and crawl under the blanket with her, feel her sigh contently against you as your arm wraps around her waist.

Moments like this scare you in a particular way.

Like practicing keep-ups inside as a kid when you know you're not supposed to.

Like drinking with your best friend at 16 and accidentally telling him your crush is a _she_.

You wonder if maybe someday this won't feel like doing something wrong.

You really hope so.

"Honey, I'm home!"

The apartment smells... off when you get back from PT.

"No, don't come in!" Sonnett sounds in distress about something and you're starting to put the pieces together.

"Uh, too late." You slowly make your way towards the kitchen when it hits you: something's burning.

She's awkwardly grinning at you, standing next to something that looks more like a chunk of coal than something edible. 

"Think I should-" she suppresses a cough as if _that's_ what would give away the fact that something's burned, "Where do we keep the cleaning supplies?"

Of course, she has no clue. "Top shelf." You point at the one you mean.

Of course (again), she can't reach. 

You find yourself focusing on the back of her legs as she flexes her muscles in an attempt to reach.

The sight is a familiar one. One that's made you choke on your breakfast on several occasions and (on several more) made you apologize into your folded hands as you cried silently.

You tear your eyes away and take a deep breath despite the lack of clean air, "Let me get that for you, Son.", as you walk up to her.

You swear her breath hitches when you enter her space, your fingers brushing her waist so lightly you wouldn't know you touched her if it wasn't for her body responding to it, and it's so enticing you need it to linger. (It's worth the sleepless nights of overanalyzing that will undoubtedly follow.)

Emily does not move.

Emily doesn't move and you stand there in your impossibly tiny kitchen, still a little blue with smoke, with your body ghosting hers.

All you hear is the clock's ticks and the subtle smoldering from the now black oven. 

She's holding her breath.

You decide you want to hear it hitch just once more before you go back to the real world and start cleaning your shitty oven in your shitty kitchen with your shitty feelings for your best friend.

You take a small step forward, effectively locking her between your body and the kitchen counter and play it off as going to grab the supplies.

She reacts again and it feels like you just got off a rollercoaster. Heart beating so loudly it almost hurts a little. Pathetic as it may sound.

When you finally snap out of it and make actual efforts to get the spray you need, she pushes your arm back down before you get the chance to grab it.

Then she's turning around and looking at you – now you're the one not breathing.

"Sorry, Linds. Wanted to surprise you."

Her voice is hoarse, and you think her throat must be a little dry because you actually _watch _her swallow. 

For some reason the nickname makes you want to scream right now. That and the fact that you just watched her swallow because you made her throat dry and you're so close that her lower back must be pressed into the counter and she's wearing one of her dumb, oversized graphic tees that you pretend are lame but actually make you laugh (mostly because she's the one wearing them).

She looks so fucking small across from you and all you want to do is touch her. You think you could be touching her every second of your awake life and it still wouldn't feel like enough.

"Em."

It wasn't meant to sound like a question but the way it lingers in the silent air makes it feels like one anyway.

Emily's lips part and then stay like that, like she wants to respond but hasn't figured out what. 

And the fact that you notice her parted lips definitely means you're looking.

Then she licks them. It's quick and barely there. But when you're this on edge, anything is enough to push you over. 

Kissing her feels like the easiest thing you've ever done.

In reality, it's probably the dumbest.

She inhales sharply and it's like you can feel the air leave your own lungs.

Then she's kissing you back.

She's kissing you back and her thumb finds your jaw – traces it over and over.

She's so gentle you think you might burst – like you'll just explode into tiny pieces any second now and will have to be cleaned up along with the oven.

You're glad you're not exploding just yet because then you wouldn't have been able to-

Your hands find her hips blindly, and it's all so easy you feel like you must have done this before – with her, maybe in a different universe or lifetime but always with her.

She makes a noise you've never heard her make before and it's like a match is lit inside of your stomach.

_You're doing that to her._

The realization makes you smile involuntarily.

And she smiles back and then kissing is hard for a second as you both pull away to grin.

And oh.

This Emily. This giddy, kissed silly Emily. Kissed silly by _you_ Emily.

It's giving you a whole new type of sore eyes.

Before you can stare for too long, she's leaning in and it hits you just as hard, if not harder.

She's the one kissing you and it's so much; you feel the urge to run onto an empty soccer pitch and scream into the hollow space for a good half hour.

You run your tongue over her bottom lip before you realize it and she's so taken aback by it she tries taking a step back, which is an accidental invite for you to press her into the counter.

Your tongue meets hers and you have to press your palms against the countertop to stay upright as she runs a hand through the hair just above your neck, still contained by your ponytail.

You swear you could melt at her feet any second now as one of your hands trades the countertop for Emily's back. You want to feel her bare skin.

So, you guide her. Firmly pull her towards you and give the shirt a little tug before placing her back where she was. And it's like it's the most natural thing in the world.

You let your fingers trail around the newly accessible skin of her lower back. She's so much warmer than you and you feel her shiver as you make contact. 

You hum against her mouth because you can't help it, because she's _so_ soft.

What happens next you will always think of as a point of no return.

Emily's hips buck. Up. Into you. 

You can tell she's embarrassed, but you really have other things on your mind right now.

You respond by digging your nails into her back. Try to communicate _It's okay. I'm so into this_.

She does it _again_ and something start to build inside of you.

She breaks off the kiss and you almost whine but manage to hold it in.

"Lindsey?"

Her voice cracks and you feel her breath on your sensitive lips. It feels like it’s quiet for ages before she continues:

"Do you wanna go to my room with me?"

There’s a nervous tremor in her voice and you want to scream in her face _Of course I want to go to your room with you. I'm not a complete idiot._

Instead you just nod and stand upright, only swaying a little as you find your balance. You try to take your hand off of her back but it's like it's glued there.

You hope she doesn't mind as you walk towards the stairs, your pace is slow but there's an urgency to it. It's in the way your hand presses into her back and how her fingers dig into your hip.

You think you might be guiding her a little again, but she doesn't seem to mind, allowing you to open the door to her own room, nudge her in and close it behind you.

She's pressed against the door now, mirroring your position from earlier. 

You notice she's shaking a little as you're about to lean in so you pause, try to sound her out without saying a word, afraid it will ruin the mood.

When you realize she looks scared to death your heart drops.

You suddenly start to feel self-conscious about your- you don't even know what to call it.

"Hey," It's instinctive the way your hand finds her hot cheek and strokes it softly, "do you want me to stop?"

It comes out a whisper.

"No." Her reaction is so immediate it makes your lips curl up.

"No." She repeats, a little calmer this time, "I'm just... I'm a little scared. But _please_, don't stop."

_Please_. You repeat it over and over in your head and something inside of you - something that's usually small and contained - takes over.

"Wasn't planning on it." You confess matter-of-factly before closing the space.

You're pretty sure you're already addicted. Like your skin will start itching if you don't kiss her for 3 minutes and don't touch her whenever you're with her.

You pull her into you and her head hits the door with a soft thud. You both ignore it; continue kissing like it's all that matters because, right now, it is. That and the way she feels against you; you are warm where she's touching you and you swear, nobody - no _guy_ has ever fit against you this perfectly.

It all falls into place. And Emily was right, it is scary.

_It's also straight out of your wildest dreams_, is the thought that comes next as she lets out a noise similar to the one she let out in the kitchen but less constrained. 

You decide you can't take it anymore and pull on her shirt, tugging her towards the bed impatiently, never breaking the kiss.

Once you've reached the edge of the mattress you pause and pull back, take it all in, let your thumb graze her bottom lip and trail down her chin.

Her lips are parted slightly, and her pupils are blown so wide that in any other context you would jokingly ask what kind of pill she just took.

She just stares at you then, and you stare back. 

But your hands have a mind of their own and not long after the staring contest has commenced it's interrupted by Emily's shirt being pulled over her head.

"Fuck."

It dawns on you that you've never seen her in a non-sports bra. This one’s white and pretty basic, just the slightest hint of lace around the edges. It's enough to drive you wild, though. Then again, you're pretty sure a sports bra would have the same effect and it's more the person in it that's doing this to you.

"Linds, please." She croaks. It's just a little desperate and _so_ hot.

_This feels a lot like ruining a painting at a museum_, you think when your thumb finds one of her nipples and strokes it over the fabric.

She sighs, lets herself sit down on the bed and look up at you through hooded eyes. You feel her tug at your sweater and know what she wants, but you can't help yourself.

"Hm?"

You watch it play out on her face, a mixture of frustration and embarrassment because you're making her ask. But you know her, know she does what it takes to get what she wants, even if she has to set aside some of her pride to get it.

"Take it off." She hitches the sweater up slightly and strokes the exposed skin of your lower stomach, lets her fingers hover over the elastic band of your sweats, mumbles a soft _please_, followed by, "Wanna see you."

The amount of time it takes you to lose the sweater, push her down into the mattress and climb on top of her takes the both of you by surprise.

Your lips find her neck and start leaving wet kisses as you unclasp her bra in a swift motion. 

Being around Emily at a normal proximity is hard; having your nose buried in the crook of her neck is intoxicating.

Once her bra is on the floor you only admire the newly exposed skin for a second. Simply because the urge to put your mouth there is so much stronger.

She actually _cries out_ when you swipe your tongue over one of her nipples and every time you think this can't get more like your dreams it gets even better.

Both her hands clasp onto the back of your head, fingers digging into your tied-up hair as she arches up, right into your thigh that just happens to be positioned in between hers.

"Sh-"

You don't let her finish; move your mouth to her left breast, allowing one of your hands to find the right. You try your best to be gentle but you're so hazy you can't be sure if it's actually working. 

Whatever you're doing, she seems to like it, so you don't stress about it too much for now.

Her back arches, hips bucking up into you again.

"Please, touch me." She mumbles the last bit.

"What was that, baby?"

It's out before you realize what you're saying. Luckily, she doesn't leave room for you to regret the nickname choice because she's repeating herself immediately.

"Touch me, please."

You guess that means she likes it.

"Isn't that what I'm doing?" You're playing dumb and you know she knows it.

You conclude that hooking up with Emily is a lot like being her friend; teasing her to the point of near madness. 

Her hips meet your thigh again but this time you push back into her, partly because you feel bad for teasing her but mostly because she's your Sonny and you like making her feel good more than you like most things.

She lifts her torso off the mattress with ease and sits up a little. You get distracted by the flex of muscles, fingers trailing her v-line as her lips find your ear and she whispers, "Touch me _there_." 

You feel it tingle in your hip as she softly bites your lobe before lying back down like she knows you'll listen right away.

She's so vulnerable and cocky at the same time. 

And also, very much correct: you can't help but listen.

You pull her sweats over her hips and knees and let her kick them off completely, already too engulfed by something else to finish taking it off yourself.

There's a wet patch on Emily's yellow underwear and your first instinct is to touch it. You softly run a single finger over the fabric.

Emily's palms shoot up to her eyes in response.

"So sensitive." You mumble more as a pleasant realization to yourself, but she seems to respond to the words anyway; she whines and cocks her hips.

"And needy." You add as your fingers curl around the waistband of her boy shorts.

"You know me." You can tell she's trying to muster a smirk but is failing terrible.

You pull the shorts down and travel back up to kiss her.

"Still sure?" You inquire against her lips. She hums in response and that's all the permission you need to place a flat, shaky hand on her.

She responds immediately, forehead pressing into your bare shoulder as you start rubbing in small circles with your free arm; the one she's not holding onto for support.

She grinds against your hand and you think you might come at the mere sensation of her against you like this, all desperate and vulnerable and so small.

"Easy, baby." You mutter into her hair as you slowly enter her.

She cries out against your chest and her fingers dig into your back. You're a little sore from yesterday's practice but you don't mind the slight pain it causes.

(Something else you'll unpack some other time.)

You've only done this once before, with one of your PSG teammates back in the day. It was awkward but hot, and Tobin wouldn't shut up about it for weeks after she found out. You know it was mostly because she felt alone in France too. Alone in that I'm-different-and-everyone-can-tell kind of way that only a queer person knows.

Despite your lack of experience, it feels like the easiest thing in the world, every little action and reaction so perfectly attuned. 

_Because it's her_. You theorize.

"More?" You know she's ready but ask anyway. 

You _feel_ her response first.

Then she sort of hums, and tries to nod but it doesn't really work. But you understand – you always do – and add another finger.

You feel yourself grow wetter by the second at the way she feels around you.

Your movements get messier and quicker and her breathing speeds up, her grip on your body strengthening.

She muffles her moan by biting your shoulder when she comes.

You sigh out along with her as she recovers; like you share a set of lungs.

She's as resilient here as she is on the pitch.

You find this out when your back hits the mattress before you've even recovered yourself; the shape of Emily's body still pressed into the bed.

You take up more space. It's not a hard conclusion for you to reach.

"Only if you want to.", you rush to reassure, mainly because you're terrified. You know you're not good enough for her; you're scared she'll remember that any second now.

Emily lets out a laugh that's near hysterical.   
She's laughing at you and you want to die; wish for the mattress to swallow you whole.

Her laughter dies as suddenly as it erupted, and you think she feels you panicking; she's always been able to tell.

She smiles at you. That one smile that makes your heart burst.

"Of course, I want to." She leans forward to place a soft kiss on your shoulder and you almost start crying right then and there as she adds, "I'd be crazy not to."

Emily makes you come once with her fingers and then two more times with her mouth and you feel like the luckiest girl in the world.

The way your bodies find each other afterwards is familiar and it takes you a second to register that you're naked in bed instead of on your couch watching an old Barça game together.

Her head is tucked under your chin and her arm draped over your stomach.

"So that happened." You say because the silence is making you queasy.

You feel her nod, mutter sleepily, "That happened."

You wait for her to add anything else, any indication of how she feels about it, but her breath evens out instead.

You wish you could fall asleep with her but you're nowhere near tired. You're content just lying here though and knowing Emily she won't let you leave any time soon.

You hear the door open followed by a, "Darlings, I'm home!"

Your eyes widen and you immediately check to see if it woke up Emily.

Of course, it didn't.

You freak out.

Worm your way from under her body and immediately miss its weight as you start to look for your clothes.

You hear her groan and turn around to see her eyes are slightly opened.

"Don't leave."

It takes a breath from your lungs, watching her watch you, still very much naked.

"Ellie's home." You respond when what you really wanna do is get back in bed with her.

"Oh shit." Emily gets up and starts looking for clothing items as well. 

She throws you your panties and sweats and you blush at the fresh memory of her taking them off.

She washes her hands without making a dirty joke about it and you get dressed without speaking.

You go downstairs and Ellie brought dinner and it's like nothing happened as you watch them play with their food.

You can't sleep that night.

When you check your phone for the 100th time and it says 3 am, you decide to go to the living room and see what terrible sitcom rerun is on.

You hear noise coming from the living room as soon as you enter the hallway.

You secretly hope it's Emily. Somehow you feel braver now, in the dark.

When you see a brown bun stick up from the back of the coach you let out a breath of relief anyway.

Caitlin turns around at the sound of the door opening and shoots you a soft smile, "Sorry, did I wake ya?"

You join her on the couch and shake your head, "Can't sleep."

"Hm, something on your mind?" Caitlin's face looks a little green from the soccer field on the tv.

You think about telling her for a fraction of a second before shaking your head, "Just stressed about making semis I guess." She nods understandingly and you want the attention elsewhere than on your lie, so you ask, "What's your excuse?"

"Just got home actually. Had some drinks." She puts her fingers to her lips, "Don't tell."

"Never." You chuckle when you hear the door open.

Your body responds before your brain can even form a proper greeting.

Emily plops down on the couch in between you and Caitlin, jokes, "Having fun without me, ladies?"

You still can't talk. She hasn't been this close to you since-

Caitlin responds instead, playfully punching Emily's arm before getting up.

"Lindsey can't sleep and I had a few wines, so I'm leaving you two to it."

Your throat goes dry as Emily turns her head to face you and smiles softly.

"Night." Your voice breaks and you want to go back to your room and hide under the covers.

"Night." Caitlin responds, imitating you as Emily laughs.

"I hate you both." You deadpan right before Caitlin closes the door to the hall behind her.

And suddenly the only sound filling the living room is the game.

You pretend to watch it, very intently, but it's like Emily’s eyes are burning a hole in the side of you face.

"Linds?"

"Hm?" You can't talk. You feel like you might throw up if you do.

She doesn't say anything then and you can't fight the urge to turn your head any longer.

You lock eyes right away and for the first time in your friendship Emily’s wearing an expression that you can't read.

You don't do well with silence, you really don't and just as you've about mustered enough courage to say something dumb that Emily will probably laugh at, she lurches forward.

You gasp as your mouths meet and it's just as wonderful as the first time.

You're trying to place this feeling, think of your past, think of kissing your first girl after kissing so many boys. 

You remember how that felt like the most life-changing moment of your life; like an answer. 

But this- she is the answer you'd been waiting for all along without even knowing it.

You surprise yourself when you're the one to pull away and halt with your face inches from hers.

"Do you wanna be with me?" It sounds so weird and stupid you want to scream at yourself. "Okay, no! That came out all wrong I mean are you- do you-"

She shuts you up by kissing you, short and soft.

"Yes, I wanna be with you. Thought I'd made that pretty obvious today."

You watch her blush in the lights of the tv and grin without meaning too.

"Okay." You say because you’re too starstruck to produce a proper sentence, let alone one that’s articulate.

She laughs, mimics you by mumbling an _okay_in the dumbest voice possible.

You push her shoulder, let out a shaky laugh and pretend to be annoyed.

"I wanna be with you too."

"Yeah, I figured." She tries to say nonchalantly, but her eyes, and the way they light up, betray her.

"Such an idiot." You mumble before leaning in again.

Emily's good at soft kisses and you could probably sit right here on this couch for hours and be content with that, but you have training tomorrow, so you do actually need to get some sleep.

She whines when you pull away and get up.

"Race you to the bed?" You feel your own cheeks heat up as you say it.

She shoots up and makes her way to your room, but not before pushing you onto the couch.

"Cheater." You mutter into her ear when you land on top of her on your bed.

She just laughs and lets you pin her wrists to the mattress without protest.

Your entire body feels so warm you kind of wish you were home right now so you could lie down in the snow.

"I win." She says through giggles.

You lean down to kiss her because you can, and pull back a little to whisper, “You win.”

But when she goes quiet, looking at you with those wide eyes and flashing that cheeky lopsided smile only she can pull off, you're pretty sure you're the one who won.

**Author's Note:**

> just wanna thank the incredible soran authors on here for inspiring me and special thanks to my proofreaders. this truly wouldn't have seen the light of day without you guys.


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